


tired of sleeping, tired of waking

by Scornful_truth



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Living Together, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Game, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scornful_truth/pseuds/Scornful_truth
Summary: The worst part of a nightmare is the fact that you know it's not the last time you'll see it.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 192





	tired of sleeping, tired of waking

The waking chill after every nightmare couldn’t be sweeter.

His breath shuddered as he clamored out of bed. Tears glossed over his wet cheeks as he covered a dry cough. His throat is parched, every swallow stings down his windpipe. Swollen with the screams of his nightmares.

Dark circles stung under his eyes, his skin paler with each shallow breath he pushed into his lungs. He could feel his worn body tremble with each inhale. He should get himself water, so he doesn’t rasp when he breathes. Or he should sit himself down, so his knees don’t knock. Another cough withered up his throat.

Colorless fingers fumble with the latch on the sliding door, with a lasting effort of lingering strength, he shoved open the glass door. The cool air hit his face, but he can’t admit that it helps. So he leaned against one of the rocking porch chairs and forced himself to shake in a deep breath.

A slim figure stands up off to his side. “Hey, I-I heard…”

“...Screaming, yeah,” He breathed as silent tears slipped down his face. More out of pain this time. “...yeah, I figured.”

There's a small pause, a gap in the air where he’s about to tell him to ignore it. He can tell he wants to comfort him, and he knows how to. He speaks before he could. “...want me to hold you?” His low voice of exhaustion is so sweet, and Kokichi bristles at the idea, he must sense his pain. His head dropped to hang low, shoulders sinking along with it.

_ “Yes.” _ He whispers sharply. He doesn’t want to admit he wants it. But over these past couple months, his will has grown weaker. 

A gentle hand crosses behind his back and settles on his shoulder. Steady arms pull him up and guide him to step forward. When he does, there's a soft sound of shuffling, and the creak of the porch chair. When he gently tugs on his shoulder, he sits down in his lap. 

Shuichi leans all the way back, gazing at the night sky. Kokichi pulled his legs up to droop over the side of the chair. He laid his head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his earthy scent of coffee grounds and burnt cedarwood. Shuichi drew his arms around him, then gently pushed on the ground with his foot, to let the wooden rocking chair sway.

Kokichi closed his eyes. He always liked the wooden rocking chair on the porch. It looks uncomfortable, but when sitting in it, it cradles your body. And on nights when he can’t sleep, he often finds himself here. Though Shuichi is a nice addition.

“...You’re still crying.” He said softly, tilting his head against Kokichi’s. It’s tender, the way he lets Kokichi lie here. Tucked in his arms, not doing anything else except listening to a distant city’s business. Watching the lights glow faintly, and gazing at the horizon. 

Kokichi sniffed, unwilling to move his achy arms, he wiped his snot on Shuichi’s shirt. Chuckling hollowly seeing Shuichi grimace slightly. “...You’re one to talk.” He croaked, his throat crackled with his words. “...you look like you’ve been out here awhile…” Kokichi whispered, lifting his head to look at the red puffiness under his eyes. “...doing the same.”

Kokichi’s small body rose and fell with Shuichi’s deep inhale, and prolonged exhale. “...aha,” He chuckled, “...yes, guilty as ever. But I’m…I’m okay…” He hesitated, and for good reason. Kokichi shot him a look, dimmed by exhaustion, but filled with mild annoyance.

“Don’t do that.” He hissed softly. Unable to raise his hoarse voice. “I hate liars.” 

“...you do.” Shuichi nodded heavily. His own head seemed to weigh him down. He must have been up for hours. “...but you shouldn’t hate yourself.” 

A strangled laugh is his only response. “...Mm.” He let his head drop back against his shoulder. Cradled by his neck, where his scent is sweetest, and his hair tickles his nose. “And you shouldn’t hate danganronpa.” His ear is against his body, where he could hear his heart thumping slowly. It’s a comforting sound. But tears still drip onto Shuichi’s shirt.

“I have good reasons to hate Danganronpa.” He says, his voice pinched at the name of that company he so despised. 

Kokichi tried to shake his head, but only managed slight movement. “...and I have good reason to hate myself. They killed people, I killed people. They love glorified murder, same as I love glorified acts of thrill.” He sighed, breathing against his neck, and listening to that steady heartbeat. “...besides, hating anything is unproductive.”

“Hypocrite.” Shuichi says, “You aren’t any better.”

This time Kokichi snorted. “Heh… Congrats Shuichi.” He looked at those pretty tired eyes.”...you’ve rediscovered I’m a flawed human.” He shuffled to get more comfortable in his lap. As he does, Shuichi readjusted his arms to let him move. Then rest back against him. 

More silence clouds them. Kokichi didn’t mind. He suspected Shuichi didn’t mind either. He listened to the rhythm of his heart, he listened, and listened, and listened…

His throat tightened and he further buried his head in Shuichi’s neck. The tears don’t fall fast. They’re born slowly. Building up in his eyes, the heat behind them makes them bubble up, and when swell, they roll down his cheek. Hot streaks trail down his face, the tears drip off his chin to bleed into Shuichi’s shirt.

Shuichi moved a gentle hand to weave his fingers through his purple locks. “...tell me about the nightmare.” He whispered. His tone is so welcoming, so strong, it’s only fair. Because he does the same to Shuichi when he’s crippled and crumbled in a ball on the floor of his bedroom. Begging that Kaede be spared. Begging that they take him instead.

Kokichi used to shake his head and slink off to shut himself away. Whether it’d be the bathroom, a cupboard, or somewhere else small so he could punish himself with the thought of the press closing in on him. This time he swallowed his sob and opened his mouth.

“...Gonta was screaming.” He breathed shallowly. Almost tempted to cover his ears. “...Gonta was screaming, and crying. And…” He shuddered, his lungs squeezing in retaliation to his set in panic. “...and I...I was laughing.” The last part was the hardest part to admit. His voice cracked over the last word, leaving tears to burn his cheeks again.

Shuichi hummed. Curling his fingers around his drooping hair, and running his fingers along his scalp to help soothe him. In some small way, it helps. “...It was cold.” He whispered, inclined to press himself closer to him. Seeking that warmth only a person could give. “...It was snowing… then it changed and I was under the…” 

Kokichi snapped his jaw shut. He didn’t mean to, it was just the brutal and gruesome imagery that flared in his mind, like the unexpected burst of light in a room that was once pitch black. He swallowed roughly and felt the calming sensation of Shuichi stroking his aching head. “...the press.” He withered out. 

He forced his mind to focus on the gentle rock of the chair, and the beat of Shuichi’s living heart. “...You pinned me there. You took Kaito’s place. I told you not to, but you said…” He exhaled sharply. “...you said the thing… the thing I despise you for.” 

_ You’re alone. _

“Ah…” He nodded. “Yes, and I am sorry for that.” 

_ And you always will be. _

“Don’t be.” He snapped. Tears cascading down his face once again. “I deserved it. But I still hate you for saying it.”

“Lets…” Shuichi shifted, Kokichi lifted his head so he could adjust his arm. It must be falling asleep. “...not have that argument when we’re both exhausted and—”

“...emotionally vulnerable?” Kokichi guessed, chuckling, rubbing pointlessly at his tears. “...fine. But only if you promise me that until we breakup,”

“We won’t break up.”

“That’s what they all say.” He huffed, “Promise me that until we break up...that you’ll comfort every nightmare…” 

“...soothe every fear,” Shuichi continued.   
  


“And love me till your heart asks you the most sensible question of—”

“-Why am I in love with the most chaotic and messed up human on earth?” Shuichi recited, then turned his head so he could look down at Kokichi’s dreary eyes. “...I hate that mantra you repeat.” He whispered, finally reaching over to swipe his thumb under his eye. “...but yes, I promise.”

Their foreheads met, and Kokichi breathed with him. He shut his eyes and tilted his head to lean in further. Yet, before their lips could meet Shuichi pulled back. Their noses brushed together, and he almost asked why he didn’t want …

“...Kokichi,” He called his name softly, it almost sounded scolding, “...did anything else happen in your nightmare?”

He filled his lungs with the night air and blew it in Shuichi’s face. Mood ruiner. “...yeah, plenty, and I scream about the same awful things every night. The same things you cry about. We sit in the dark living room every day at two in the morning because of it. You started smoking because of it, I forced you to quit because of it, I almost leapt off the roof because of it.”

“You- you what?” It’s almost humorous how he isn’t surprised, just shocked.

“Unimportant.” He grumbled. “That was 4 weeks ago or something. Don’t pretend like you haven’t fantasized about death too.” He waved his hand and scrubbed at his swollen eyes. Finally, the tears seemed to die down. He looked at Shuichi, his eye’s colors of dark greys and red-rashes. “... _ now  _ can I get a kiss?” 

The cyan haired boy did nothing but stare back. “...Can I make you some tea, and put you to bed before I do?” 

Kokichi smacked his dry lips and cupped his face. Skin pale, but soft and supple. He closed the gap and kissed his lips. It was one-sided, only because he pulled away too quickly. “...even if I said no you’d do it anyway.” He hummed, “...go ahead, take care of me like a disgustingly good person you are.”

Shuichi chuckled. The nightly breeze brushed by their faces and tousled their hair. “...Okay, you have to get up though, I’m not as strong as I used to be.” He helped by tilting the rocking chair forward to stop it’s swaying. Kokichi didn’t want to leave the warmth of his side. So he kissed his cheek and pulled himself off his lap.

They both shuffled into their small kitchen, having only a small apartment to their name. Kokichi laid his head between Shuichi’s shoulder blades as he made tea. And when he turned, he accepted his drink and sipped it gratefully. It soothed his scratched throat and fixed his thirst. Shuichi sat on the couch beside him, drifting off to sleep here and there, until Kokichi finished and took his hand in his.

Kokichi helped drag him to his bedroom. They had separate beds, separate rooms, only to save one another the grief of waking up to screaming in their ears. It doesn’t help much though. They can't plug the sound of their sobs, they can’t drown out the shriek of their screams no matter how many walls stand between them.

The former detective crawled onto the bed and lied on his back. Sighing as the world pushed and pulled around him. Kokichi felt the same, his body was heavy with exhaustion. He found Shuichi’s hand, which guided him into his open arms. He collapsed with his head over his heart. Arms draped over one another. Messy hair cheek to cheek. 

“...This is the part where I say I love you, and you love me…” Shuichi whispered. 

“Yeah?” Kokichi blinked heavily. He could already feel his body going numb with sleep. “...well, a kiss is just as good, isn’t it?” 

“...mhmm.” 

Kokichi swept his fingers through his blue hair, drifting down to rest against his face. He pressed his lips to his and felt Shuichi kiss back. He kissed with a softness that was delicate, and innocent. Sweet, and subtle. 

They fell asleep shortly after the kiss broke apart. 

The rest of the night didn’t stay quiet. Nightmares came back. They always do. Eventually, when their eyes open, the sun would have risen. And they get to do it all over again. They get to fumble around one another, make breakfast, convince themselves they aren’t hated, see friends, then return at night to lie with each other on the couches because their bedrooms started looking like torturing cells. 

They savor the gentle kisses, the long hugs, the hand-holding that stifles trembling. 

And for some twisted reason, because of those moments, all the pain is worth enduring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed a story written out of the lack of sleep. Lemme know what you think <3


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